


twenty-seven : A Shadowhunters AU Fanfic

by y0uneverwalkal0ne



Series: Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood: Redefined (A Collection) [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Dimension, Camille Belcourt - Freeform, Cassandra Clare - Freeform, Crime, F/F, Freeform, He/Him, Isabelle Lightwood - Freeform, Jace HERONDALE - Freeform, Law, Lucian Graymark - Freeform, Luke Garroway - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Nephilim, Parallel Universe, Police, Raphael Santiago - Freeform, She/Her, Simon Lewis - Freeform, The Institute - Freeform, alec lightwood - Freeform, clary fray - Freeform, jace wayland - Freeform, magnus bane - Freeform, shadowhunters au, the mortal instruments - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6928492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y0uneverwalkal0ne/pseuds/y0uneverwalkal0ne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Idris Police Department struggles to solve the murder of a child, allegedly committed by  the captain's landlord, Magnus Bane. Atty. Raphael Santiago, Bane's lawyer, drags his ever faithful paralegal with him on the quest of proving Magnus innocent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	twenty-seven : A Shadowhunters AU Fanfic

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Gabby! Thanks for the idea dude! LOL Sorry for my mediocre writing skills. Gabby's Twitter handle: @starkesthour :D
> 
> To my #MGDSquad: Sorry for being inactive guys! LEANN, MARIA, LIV, ERIKA, PRAVA, SACHA, REMI AND REI, this one is for all of you, too! I love you all to the moon and back! :*
> 
> To whoever the great person reading this piece of my mind, thank you! Hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> PS. Everything science/forensics related stuff here are thoroughly researched, they're not made up. :D Please, if you know something about it and if I happen to get anything wrong, feel free to tell me in the comments sections below! Thank you! <3

Awake yet eyes still closed, Magnus Bane imagined what his day will look like.

He will choose yet another one of his magnificent outfits from his equally magnificent wardrobe. He’ll do turquoise today. Or maybe aquamarine...ah yes, the sequined one. Then he’ll set up his hot bubble bath, already smelling faint traces of sandalwood in the air. He’ll temporarily dye his hair electric blue, to match his clothes. Maybe he’ll do the Harajuku hair style this day. _Well it awfully looks good on Captain Lightwood._ He’s no doubt it’ll look good on him, too.

He’ll walk out his door, carrying nothing but his magnificent self, his wallet and his keys. He’ll walk out his door, open up his boutique, and start with his business once more. Like any and every day in his life, he will sell lots, and like any and every day in his life, he’ll go home happy and content. Everything will be perfect. As it always does.

Magnus decided to jump out of bed, ready to start his perfect day, unaware of what he currently holds in his left hand.

Everything will be perfect, except that Magnus Bane’s left hand is bloodied, and holding a butcher’s knife.

Everything will be perfect, except that Magnus Bane’s clothes are showered scarlet with blood.

Everything will be perfect, except that Magnus Bane’s bedroom is inhabited not only by himself, but also with a bloodied body of a little girl.

Everything will be perfect, except that Magnus Bane is now a murderer.

  


“Alright. Brocelind Street? Okay. Be there in 15.” _Damn it._

Great. It’s Clarissa Fray’s first day as a detective, and she already has one death to investigate.

The call from the station was Clary’s alarm clock that day. She was not expected to be there ‘till nine in the morning, but duty called early. Too early that right after that call, she had to automatically jump out of bed, take her fastest shower and choose a just decent outfit before hopping in her motorcycle. Angels above, she does love her job.

Having the daredevil title when she was in high school, Detective Fray beat her ETA by seven gleaming minutes. She did not expect the scene of the crime to be quite... _loud_ is the word.

In front of her was a canary yellow building, and house isn’t just the term for it. It looks more like an amusement park, if your depiction of amusement includes exotic decorations and glitters, _lots_ of it.

A tall man, possibly 6’3” by her estimation, with awfully shiny blonde hair approached her. He held out a hand, while showing his badge with the other. “Detective Jace Herondale, Homicide Squad.” The man wore a bored yet mocking glare, which feels like they’re burning through her soul because his eyes were the fiercest golden Clary had ever seen.

She then pulled out her own badge, not bothering to answer the handshake. “Detective Clary Fray. What do we have here?”

Together, they entered the house, while Det. Herondale explains to her the details they have yet regarding the crime.

“Girl, around 15, stabbed to death. Found in the bedroom of prime suspect, suspect holding the murder weapon.”

Weird. The stats seemed so simple. “Why haven’t you arrested him yet? If the girl was found dead, along with the suspect, with the murder weapon, why haven’t you arrested him yet?”

The detective looked at her like she was spouting nonsense. “How did you know it was a man?”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Stabs. Knife. Women kill with poisons, detective. Women likes killing through quieter means. Men are always the violent ones.”

“Sexist.” The detective replied, more like to himself. “Anyways, Captain’s orders. Suspect’s in detention, but he can’t be arrested yet. The lawyer demands a full investigation.” _Captain’s orders?_

As they reached the bedroom, she began wearing her gloves, peering through the room to look for further information. She took hold of the suspect’s wallet, fingered through every piece of information inside the awfully yellow leather pouch. She glanced around the bedroom, observing the suspect’s walls, reaching through his mind, reading through what might have been the inside of his head. She looked through clothes, things, photographs, drawing inferences–all of which are going quite strong in the moment.

She examined the victim, carefully moving through the girl’s clothing and surroundings to get more clues. She moved the corpse’s body, peeked through every vital parts.

Clary Fray did her thing–deduction–and reached a hypothesis, yet to be proven at the laboratory, her second home.

  


In his 32 years of existence, Atty. Raphael Santiago has never felt _this_ annoyed. How he wished he could just die right this minute.

He always dreaded Bane’s phone calls because they were always accustomed with his reckless behaviours. But this call? Oh angels above and hells below, _this call is on another level._

He remembered the loud ring of the landline that morning, while he brushes his teeth before going to work. Quickly rinsing his mouth with lukewarm water, he rushes to the phone and answers it in one swift word.

“Santiago.” He heard a loud sigh of relief on the other end.

“Oh Rafi! Thank _gods!_ ” Raphael fought the urge to roll his eyes, but his really annoyed self defeated him. Gods, he is _so done_ with this man.

“ _Dios mio,_ Magnus. This? Again?!” He can’t hide the constant anger in his tone whenever Magnus Bane calls. Somehow, it was always laid out in a simple equation: Magnus Bane + call = Police trouble.

“C’mon Raphael. I need you. This one’s serious.” His tone _is_ serious, but Raphael knew better than to get himself inside one of Magnus’ Venus flytraps of words.

“What have you done this time, _amigo?_ Crashed a brand new Mercedes? Ruined a bar?” Lots of sarcasm were dripping off his voice.

“Well those sound like awfully good ideas, but no. Apparently, I murdered a 15-year old girl.”

Raphael Santiago died. No, he just stopped breathing.

“ _WHAT?”_ Oh Jesus. _Take me now_ , Santiago thought.

“Please, Rafi. For me.” He can hear the desperation in Bane’s voice.

“Listen, Bane. You owe me. You OWE me, BIG TIME.” Hearing another long sigh of relief from his friend, Raphael Santiago hanged up and dialed another set of numbers. A squeaky voice sounded through the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Lewis. You’ve got your first assignment. Meet me in the Dumort, ninesharp.”

Atty. Raphael Santiago’s day was going not according his plans, but at least he had Simon Lewis to boss around.

  


The body was brought in eight hours after the discovery of the crime. This made Izzy Lightwood’s day as horrible as the people around her.

“Why just now? You know I want my bodies fresh!” Isabelle demanded to her captain.

“Herondale, the door, please.” The captain commanded the young detective, waiting for the door to be fully closed before facing the mad forensics expert in front of him. “Izzy, I may be your _brother_ , but I’m still the _captain_ of this station. If you don’t show our men that you have respect for me, they won’t either.” Captain Alexander Lightwood exasperatingly chided his sister.

“Fine. But the body? _Eight_ hours, Alec! Do you know how much the _rigor mortis_ would have settled by then? What do you think am I dealing with, mannequins?” Izzy sarcastically noted.

“Isabelle, you’re good at what you’re doing. It’ll be a piece of cake, I’m sure of it.” The captain massaged his forehead, clearly tired of dealing with her sister. Izzy noticed the stress taking hold of her brother so she let him go. _Just this time._

“It _was_ a piece of cake, until that body turned to a chunk of stone.” Izzy Lightwood stormed out of this office, still enraged but she knew better than to further make his brother’s head hurt more than it does.

As she opened the door to her laboratory, she was taken aback by a moving body inside. Taking precautions, she swiftly and quietly fumbled through the wall and switched on the lights.

“Ow! Bright!” She saw the moving body, which was actually a woman with curly and awfully red hair, covering her eyes.

“I–I’m sorry– _Who are you?_ ” Izzy asked, evidently unwelcoming. The lady brought down her hands, and Isabelle saw that her eyes were a green so bright, it looks like amber.

“Oh! Uh, sorry! I’m a detective and I was hoping to–uh–examine the body?” The detective reasoned. Izzy was shocked.

“But isn’t examining the body my job? I’m the forensics expert.” She watched the redhead gather her reasons, clearly wanting to prove her point.

“But–but it has been _eight_ hours! _Do you know how much the rigor mortis would have settled by then?_ ” Despite the awkward situation, Izzy found it difficult not to laugh.

“W-Why are you laughing miss?” Detective Redhead was clueless. Izzy recovered herself, always on her great pedestal of poise.

“Nothing. It’s just what I _exactly_ told my brother a while ago.” Izzy smiled, offering the detective her hand. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Isabelle Lightwood.” The detective clumsily reached out, answering the offered shake.

“Uh–C-Clary.” Clary smiled back.

  


It’s a great time to be alive for Simon Lewis. He just got his first job.

Simon just graduated as a paralegal, but he interned for 2 years under the respected Atty. Raphael Santiago. Two years of carrying heavy bundles of folders, boxes of infinite files, and stirring a million cups of coffee–they were all worth it. Atty. Santiago hired him right after graduation which got all his high hopes up, even though he still did the same things–folders, files, coffee. Now, having his first real assignment, it felt surreal to him.

“Lewis. Are you _even_ listening to me?” Coffee. “Go get me a cup.” Bull’s eye.

He stood, walked straight to the coffee maker, and brewed the lawyer’s request. _I should just have been a bartender._ But Simon was happy with his job. Working alongside one of Idris’ highly acclaimed lawyers, Simon could not hope for a better life.

He thought about the assignment. Raphael met him at the Dumort as promised, ninesharp. He had been there 30 minutes before, scared of what the lawyer’s reaction might have been if he was late.

“Murder. Bane. Girl. 15. Stabbed. Forensics to follow.” Two years of internship, more like _bullying_ from this man trained Simon to understand the way he speaks.

In Simon’s world, Raphael was the “man of less talk” kinda guy. And Raphael is _that_ kind of guy, literally. Simon did a quick translation: “The case is a murder, allegedly by my friend Magnus Bane. A girl, around 15, was stabbed to death. Forensics reports are to follow.” He stared longingly at the attorney, like he always did when Atty. Santiago was so focused.

In Simon’s world, Santiago always has this dark purple aura around him, that glows vividly when Raphael was so immersed in his work. It was awesome–like a scientist on verge of discovering something life-changing.

“LEWIS. That’s the second time today that you spaced out on me. Us. Field today. We’ll go to the crime scene.” Santiago explained, and Simon’s blood pumped with excitement.

“You’ll help me free Bane.” And Simon couldn’t ask for more.

  


Captain Alec Lightwood’s life has been ruined the day he moved to that building. The landlord ( _landlady_?) promised quite a great deal, and considering all factors–Izzy, his job, time, energy and money–he had no choice but to accept. From then on he dreaded every waking hour, but this day was the worst.

Lord Bane woke him up that morning, just 3 hours after he put himself to sleep. Or rather, Lord Bane’s _screams_ woke him up. “CAPTAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!” He had no doubt Bane was calling him, though he had _no_ idea why, in these ungodly hours.

Alec jumped out of bed, opened his apartment and went straight to the source of that _horrifying_ sound. “Magnus?” He called out.

“Key under the doormat! Please _help me!_ ” He sounded desperate and as the captain of the local police, he was obligated to at least check up on him.

Alec found the key as promised and as he entered the apartment, he was not surprised of what he was seeing. Judging by how he dresses, Magnus Bane is quite an _exotic_ man.

“Where are you?” He moved around the loft, careful not to displace anything.

“Bedroom!” Bane shouted back. Alec navigated through the unit and his breath hitched when saw what _situation_ Magnus was in that moment.

“What the f– _What have you done?!_ ” Years of police training made Alec execute calmness in every possible situation he might be in, and thank gods, he wasn’t freaking out right now. Well maybe a bit.

He saw Magnus broke down to tears. “Th-that’s the p-point! I didn’t! I didn’t! I-I woke up and-and this _hideous_ knife was on my hand! _I’m covered in blood!”_

Magnus was still lying in his bed, right hand on his _bare_ stomach and his left near his head, holding a bloodied knife. Beside his bed was a _bloody_ girl, no pun intended.

Alec Lightwood’s mind raced with emotions from the past while only a single name resurfaces his thoughts. _Max._

Alec rushed to see if she was still alive. She isn’t. Alec’s brain was screaming bloody murder.

“Where’s your telephone?” Alec calmly asked.

Still with his handsome face tear stained, Magnus used his glossy lips to point the phone’s location, which Alec found quite amusing. _Alec would NEVER_ _admit that he finds Magnus Bane_ amusing. He raced to it, dialed the quick response team’s line and called for backup to assess the scene.

“ _Please Alec, I did not do this._ ” Magnus begged with his eyes and weird as he might seem, Alec believed that Magnus Bane is incapable of such horrible crime.

“I’m sorry Magnus but please, don’t move.”

Sitting in his office right now, Captain Lightwood kept stressing himself over what happened just hours ago. Above everyone, he felt the most responsible over this case.

“C’mon Alec, man. You can’t have this one over your head. What if he’s bluffing?” Alec threw dagger stares at the detective in front of him.

“Shut up Jace. I’ve known the man for five years. He owns two cats, for Christ’s sake.” He massaged his forehead, trying to straighten out the lines etched across them. _Dear God, I’m too young for wrinkles._

“So? Have you had any real interaction? You’re his client, he’s your landlord. How well do you know each other?” Alec was losing his patience.

“Well enough to know he didn’t commit the murder. And if he did, I’ll make sure he goes to the Silent City for it.”

Magnus Bane was to be taken in for now, but Alexander Lightwood swore to find the real perpetrator of this horrible crime.

  


It was not the worst news he’s ever received. But damn, this woman _exhausts_ him.

“Hey Alec. You called on me?” Detective Jace Herondale was used to have his adoptive brother call on him every time in the station.

“Hey Jace. You met Clary Fray yet?” Alec inquired, looking up from the papers on his table, his left hand twisting a pen, his back finally relaxing on his swivel chair.

“Claire who?” Alec furrowed his brows, leaning his elbows on the table.

“Detective Clary Fray. Tiny. Redheaded. Sharp mouth? Met her yet?” Recognition flicked on Jace’s mind.

“Oh her, yes. She arrived at the crime scene this morning. What about her?” _This is weird,_ Detective Herondale thought.

“She graduated with highest honors. I heard. Quite a mind on investigations. Her mouth’s as sharp as her mind.” Alec explained, though Jace gets nothing from it.

“So do I. Top honors. Every crime I’ve faced, I’ve solved. _What about her, Alec?_ ” Jace is getting impatient.

“She’ll be your partner. I want this case solved as _clean_ as possible.” It was an insult to his records, but that’s how he ended up with this ginger chatterbox.

“C’mon, Detective. I can’t be that _bad._ ” He glanced down on this tiny redhead, who’s apparently, his partner _for now._

“Yeah right.” He sarcastically replied.

The redhead stopped walking, but he isn’t waiting for him. A few seconds later, the redhead caught up to him again.

“Damn mister. Really? Don’t you have any chivalrous bone in your body?”

Jonathan Herondale shrugged.

“Whatever. Anyways, is Isabelle a flower or a cologne kind of girl?” _Now_ she got his attention.

 _“What?”_ Jace scoffed. He can _not_ believe her. “You’re hitting on my _sister_?” This, is impossible.

“You’re her _brother?_ Why–what– _how did that even happen?_ ”

Jace took a deep breath, and chose his words carefully before replying. He raised his hand, pointing a finger to Clary’s face.

“Cologne. Izzy’s allergic to flowers. Listen Fray, _you ever try to hurt Izzy, I’ll personally put you in a dumpster._ ”

“Damn, okay, okay. We’re not even dating yet!” Clary Fray laughed, totally amused by his reaction. “Hell, you _are_ protective.”

“Hell yes, I am.” _I could have been protective five years ago. I could have protected Max,_ Jace thought. He pushed the thought aside. Alec wants this clean, he’ll get this clean.

“Oh-kay. So when do we get her? I’d loooove to see action! I don’t have my first arrest yet!” _What is she talking about?_

“Huh? Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?” Jace’s face was painted with surprise all over it. Clary quickly followed up on her words “Uhm, you spoke out loud.” _Oh._

Jace cleared his throat. Has this girl already solved it?

  


Magnus Bane preferred his pink loveseat back in the loft. These _beds_ are not beds. These are plywoods put together, inside this _hell_ of a cell. _Don’t they have air conditioners?_ Magnus annoyingly thought.

“Uhm, sir? Your lawyer’s here.” The guard, personally appointed by Lightwood himself, fumbled through the unlocked cell. Magnus Bane stepped out to see his friend.

“Rafi! Oh thank gods!” He rushed to hug Raphael Santiago, but the lawyer quickly put up a finger in the air, making him think better of it.

“ _Rafi?_ ” A squeaky voice behind him said, with a following snort.

“Shut up, Lewis.” Santiago chided. “Well, what have you got yourself into this time?” Raphael asked, grabbing a chair. Magnus knew it was rhetorical, since it was _very Raphael_ to research everything beforehand talking to him.

“Just help me get out of this. You know I didn’t do it.” Magnus tiringly said. _Gods, how did I get into this? How?_

“Fine. It’s what I always do, anyways. Who do you think did it, by the way?” _That’s the problem. I’m too fabulous to be hated, but…_

Raphael snorted. Of course he knows. “Alright, Bane. I’ll get you out. But as I said, _you owe me, amigo._ Where did you two last meet?”

Magnus Bane recalled the memory. “Java Jones. We went out for coffee. _She_ wanted to talk.”

“I know. It’s highly seldom that I don’t know things.” Santiago smiled. Magnus looked at the boy beside his friend, and he was not surprised to see the expression on the boy’s face. _Can Raphael stop being attractive? Just a minute, please?_

 _“Anyways,_ we will take a visit on your loft, because I’m not figuring this out. Even if I already did.” Magnus gasped. Surely Rafi won’t abandon him?!

“Bane, meet you salvation, Simon Lewis. Lewis, my _friend,_ Magnus Bane.” _Simeon? Sheldon?_ He forgot–the boy, with a big smile, _oh youth,_ thrust out a hand.

“Simon Lewis.” Magnus met the hand.

“Magnus Bane. Thank you, for you help.”

  


Back in the forensics lab, Izzy Lightwood kept smiling to herself.

Examining the rock hard, 12-hour dead body, she can’t help but think about the new detective. Also, she can’t help thinking how utterly _important_ her job is.

Without her, the officers would have already ruled the cause of death as the stabs, which, apparently, is not the case. Her thing is much more important than what the eyes can see.

Isabelle moved at the head of the table to open the girl’s mouth. She sniffed into it, which sounds nasty, but she was trained to do this. Very few things on earth upset her stomach.

_Caffeine? Sugar. Strong gastric juices. Hydrochloric acid. Ugh. Vomit._

She then checked the face and body coloring. _Normal,_ she thought, considering the nature of the body. Traces of _sweating_ , even if eight hours has already taken toll. “ _Well at least, this isn’t poisoning. I’ve got no time to deal with the toxicologist today,_ ” Izzy spoke to herself.

Moving close to the face again, Isabelle inhaled through the nose. “Hmm. No evident smell of any deadly chemicals. Neat.”

She moved around the body at fast paces it was dizzying–but Isabelle Lightwood was trained to do this, and she takes high pride on her job.

She checked the anal cavity, surprised to diagnose _diarrhea_ on the corpse. She grabbed the checklist at the end of the table, and ticked off boxes. “No injection marks, no scars to suggest suicide, _of course this isn’t suicide_ , no blisters to suggest chemical extremities.” It was an unusual thing, because Izzy was certain that the stabs were put _after_ the time of death. What killed this girl?

She stared at the body again, giving more attention to the visible veins on the girl’s skin. _Abdominal cavity strained–suggests pain right before death. Constricted. Hardened joints. Overstretched neck veins. Convulsion._ She did a quick summarization.

Caffeine. Stomach acidity. Vomiting. Sweating. Diarrhea. Abdominal pains. Convulsion.

Nausea filled Isabelle Lightwood’s body. She’s heard of this cause of death, but never encountered it yet. _This is usually a doctor’s case,_ she thought.

Perhaps she needs to deal with the toxicologist after all.

  


Sitting at this long mahogany table, Clary felt her job taking place in reality right this moment. _This feels like a TV show,_ she thought. _Cool._

In front of them are three white boards, full with lines and photos, post-it notes and scribbles.

The captain is _in_ the discussion. Aren’t there matters more pressing than a normal murder?

“Isabelle’s coming any minute now with the pathology and toxicology reports.” _Izzy’s coming?_ Clary felt her face get hot.

“What’s with you, Fray? Have you got fever? You’re redder than your hair.” Captain Alec Lightwood asked her, completely clueless with the difference between _fever_ and _blushing._

She heard Herondale snort.

“Nothing Cap. It’s just hot here.” As if on cue, Izzy, black hair contrasting the white of her lab gown, came storming into the room with several folders in her arms.

“Hm. There. It’s just what I thought. A–” Clary cut her short.

“Acetaminophen poisoning.” Three faces came to look at her at once. _They_ are _siblings,_ she thought. Izzy opened up her mouth.

“How did you _know?_ You were just playing around the table.” She can’t help but sigh. “I’m never _playing_ around the laboratory, miss. The laboratory is my second home and che–” Another voice completed her sentence.

“–mistry is life. Chemistry is life. Oh God, I know.” Detective Herondale massaged his forehead. Captain Lightwood looked at him, completely weirded out by the discussion. Jace looked back. “What? All day she kept blabbering about chemicals and reactions and solvents and how _chemistry is life._ It’s sounds like a freaking catchphrase!”

Isabelle cleared her throat. “Okay, back to the real deal. How did you know?” Clary launched into her usual self, a version of her she’s most comfortable of being.

“First, the crime scene. The body _has been_ dead, considering the postmortem changes, whilst the _blood_ around it was awfully fresh. That signaled that the stabs were _added,_ crossing the knife out as the sign of death. The smell of the mouth–hydrochloric acid was evident, meaning the gastric juices were on high before the esophagus started to close. High gastric juices equals acidity. Plus the smell of–”

“–vomit. Ugh. I got that, too.” Clary reddened again but she rushed back to her explanation.

“Y-yeah. The smell of vomit. So far we’ve got high acidity, traces of vomiting, with no other evident chemical that might have caused the death. That’s why right after my talk with Detective Herondale, I uh–sneaked into the lab, to gather more information. I examined if any other digestive problem was present and yes, there was–diarrhea. I also gathered that the victim might have _convulsed_ before the actual death, because the body was _strained_ . Too much, which suggests hardening of the muscles even before she died. So we got vomiting, diarrhea, convulsion. Also, too much sweat traces in the epidermis. And abdominal pains, mostly judging by the diarrhea factor. It isn’t common, but those are major symptoms of Acetaminophen poisoning, which is more like _overdose._ The victim was overdosed with paracetamol.”

Three hanging mouths. “Wow.” Detective Jace Herondale was the first to regain composure.

“You’re... _brilliant._ ” Izzy commented, which made her blush, _for the third time, damn it._

“You’re good.” That came from Captain Lightwood, and she swelled with pride. _I’m good._

“One question though,” her partner said, “why did you say, ‘When do we get _her?_ ’ Why _her?_ ” Clary visibly rolled her eyes.

“You never listened to me! I told you _women like killing through quieter means._ ” She explained.

“So who’s her?” Izzy asked.

“Camille Belcourt. No other.” It was... _Captain Lightwood._

“H-how did you know?” It was Clary’s turn to ask.

“She’s Magnus Bane’s ex-girlfriend.” A different voice, _yet so familiar._

Simon Lewis is in the house.

  


Discovering the facts from Atty. Santiago, Simon Lewis has never felt _this_ enlightened in his whole life. And the story slash theory? Wow. Ultimate mind blow. _It freaking sounds like a movie!_ The young paralegal thought.

According to Raphael, the _she_ Magnus and him were talking about is Camille Belcourt, Bane’s ex-girlfriend.

“Apparently, she cheated on him and Magnus broke it up,” Santiago explained. It was weird, hearing Raphael speak in paragraphs, but Simon is _not_ complaining. _His voice is...amazing._ “She never moved on with the break up, I think. She’s always been unstable.” Raphael shrugged.

Now, facing all these police officers made Simon’s insides turn to jelly. _How does Raphael deal with them?_ It’s a mystery.

Simon’s eyes kept roaming around the room, until it settled on a familiar face. “Clary?”

“SIMON?”

And the most epic hug of the century happened.

“Ehem.” Atty. Santiago and a black haired, _whew, gorgeous,_ woman in a laboratory gown synchronizingly cleared their throats. Clary and Simon immediately detached from each other.

“We came here to report about someone we think you might want to investigate.” Santiago stepped up, clearly disgusted with the waste of time.

Captain Lightwood answered. “Yes, we figured. Please, take your seats.” The officer gestured to some empty chairs, and Simon and the lawyer settled down.

“Uhm, we came here to talk about Camille Belcourt. We think she might be the real murderer. Not Mr. Bane.” Simon chattered, explaining the reason of their unannounced arrival.

“Yes, we worked that out for ourselves right before you came crashing to the door.” Detective Blonde Golden Eyes said.

“Izzy, what do we know about Camille Belcourt?” Miss Black Hair With The Gorgeous Bod opened up a laptop, typing to search the police database.

“Camille Belcourt. 32 years old. A registered nurse at St. Beth’s. Resides in Alicante. Had records of…” Izzy’s voice trailed off.

“Isabelle?” Clary chimed in.

“Unstability. She’s unstable. Records of child abuse back when she was 25. Hired under a strict contract not to be positioned near the nursery, maternity ward, children’s ward and elder’s ward. Wow.”

Detective Herondale chimed in. “So basically, she was stationed at the drugstore. Great.”

No one was speaking. Captain Lightwood broke the silence. “Herondale, Fray. You’re to visit St. Beth’s ASAP. Bring a permit in for questioning. Ask her everything. You know the drill. I want positive feedback. Go.”

The two detectives stood and grabbed their coats, making way to the door. Except that Clary stopped in front of him and gave him another yet brief hug. “We should get coffee sometime!” She whispered. Lightwood turned to the lawyer.

“Mr. Santiago, I gather you’re gonna raise for lawsuit now? No arrest can be done without a case.” Raphael just smiled. _Oooh. He’s a rainbow and his smiles are everything that’s nice._

“Of course. Lewis. Prepare the draft right away, I want it on my table tomorrow by ten.” Simon snapped out of his reverie, suddenly interested in the lawyer’s words.

Simon will have it on the table by six.

  


Besides everything that’s happening, Raphael Santiago is still human, and he needs to keep his body fit. So he decided to jog.

For two hours in the light of dusk, Atty. Santiago ran around Alicante, earphones plugged in his ears and blasting with Mozart’s _Requiem Mass in D Minor._ He found classical music helpful when he needs to think about things.

It’s only three years since he’s been a lawyer, and already the best in the country, so it seems. Santiago was a name renowned for its glory in the field of law, and Raphael was not one to disappoint. Only a freshman in the Idris School of Law, he already exhibited potential that the professors duly appreciated.

Simon Lewis had potential, too.

He’s always wondered why the kid (barely a kid to him, he’s just 3 years older than Simon is) did not study law. He had the brains, the tenacity, the attitude–not that Raphael would admit this to Lewis, but it’s always been a mystery to him why the kid settled with being just a paralegal.

Nothing against paralegals, _of course._

He _thanked_ the Fates though. If Simon decided to take law, Santiago was sure he’d be competition.

Also, if Simon was a lawyer, Raphael would not have a _Lewis_ to boss around.

Speaking of bossing around, he still needs to file that murder case against Belcourt. _I’m so done with Bane’s irresponsible habits,_ he thought.

Stopping by his firm in the city, Raphael’s attention was stolen by the sight of a single folder in his _clear_ table.

And the sight of a body crumpled in his _favorite_ sofa.

Raphael Santiago fought the urge to swear out loud. In his receiving chair lies Lewis’ coat, carefully folded. In his _favorite_ sofa lies, well, crumples, the body of his paralegal, Simon Lewis.

_Why the damn is he in his undershirt? In MY OFFICE?_

His mind was clouded by the immense _doneness_ he has for the world right now. However, his body, covered with sweat, felt the sudden chill of the environment. Realization hits him.

 _It’s freezing 93.6 degrees in my office, and Simon is in his undershirt. How utterly cold and how superbly idiot of him,_ Raphael thought.

Against his normal judgment, Santiago grabbed a blanket under his desk ( _do not ask)_ and covered Lewis in it. He jogged to the air conditioner and raised the temperature by several degrees, adding some heat to this frozen hole that is his office.

Annoyed or not, Raphael Santiago would not be able to forgive himself if his paralegal got sick.

  


St. Beth’s Hospital still looks the same, Jace noticed.

Beside him is Detective Fray, looking around, evidently capturing the sight of the place with her mind. “You’ve never been here?” He asked.

“I’ve never been in a hospital. Ever.” The redhead answered. “Wait!” Herondale flinched. “What?!”

“Isn’t that _her_?” He turned to face where his partner was looking and saw what she was talking about.

Camille Belcourt, completely dressed in civilian’s clothes, inside her gray car. _Making a run for it? Nah. You won’t get away._

“Fray! Quick! Back to the car!” He rushed back to the car himself, hearing the young detective say something along the lines of “A chase? OOOH EXCITING!” _Rookies._

Jamming the keys in the slot, Jace Herondale prepared himself for a joyride. He heard a knock on the window beside him, so he rolled off the pane. “ _What are you still doing there?! She’ll get away, dummy!_ ”

Clary’s face contorted. “OUT!”

“What?”

“Out! Trust me!” Against his instincts, Jace moved out of the driver’s seat to let Fray drive. He does not think this is a good–

“WOAH! _Where the hell did you learn to drive like this?_ ” Detective Herondale _swore_ the car was flying. Within 15 minutes, Camille Belcourt’s car was in their sphere of view again.

“Okay. Now I’m scared. How did you know she was going here?” Jace asked the redhead daredevil beside him.

“I did an investigation of my own!” Clary screamed through the gush of the winds.

Minutes later, the gray Subaru pulled up in front of an old-looking apartment building. Their suspect stepped out of the car and entered the rather dull-looking stack of bricks.

They waited outside, and five minutes later, Camille Belcourt was dressed in a new set of clothes, with a shiny black suitcase on her trail.

“Oooh. Traveling?” Jace can’t help but feel the adrenaline his job entails.

The two detectives started tailing the killer again.

“What, we’re gonna follow her car until she stops?” Clary, still on the wheel, asked him.

“Yes. But nine out of 10 says she’s going to the airport.”

And she did. Camille Belcourt was planning an escapade, but Detective Jace Herondale would not let her.

“Hands up! Turn around and DO NOT MOVE!” With his gun already in his hands, the detective started with the SOP. _This would be easy,_ he thought.

Except that it wouldn’t. Camille Belcourt left her suitcase and went for a run, with only her backpack slung across her shoulders.

Jace and Clary chased her through the airport, the two of them already creating chaos. Security guards started zooming in on the pair of them.

Clary, clearly unfazed by the moment, whipped out her badge and shouted, “IDRIS POLICE DEPARTMENT! Chase that woman with the brown backpack!” And the guards run along with them.

This person won’t get away with murder.

  


Captain Alec Lightwood was woken up by the loud ring of his phone. He didn’t even realize he was asleep.

“Lightwood.” He answered the call.

“Hey Alec,” said Jace, “we got her.” And suddenly, every blood in his body was jolted by what seems like 10,000 volts of electricity.

“I’m coming and I AM MAKING THE ARREST,” he said before hanging up. Quickly grabbing his coat, he stepped out of his office and started calling out at the station.

“We got a 10-16 at the Idris Airlines, people. Five free officers, follow me.” He _bossed_ around his people, passing them the message of just how important this pickup is. To him, at least.

Exiting the station, Alec ran to his motorcycle and raced to the airport. He can’t let that _child murderer_ get away.

After approximately 15 minutes, Captain Lightwood reached the airlines. Entering the room where his two detectives held up Camille Belcourt, he instinctively grabbed behind his back for cuffs, and started with the words.

“You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, what you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with a lawyer and have that lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire. But for now, you’re under _me,_ Camille Belcourt.” Alec used every strand of sanity that remain in his body just to keep himself from strangling this woman. He yanked her arms, dragging him out the door.

“Hey man, easy. Easy.” Jace chided him, his mind as clear as ever.

In response, Alec handed Belcourt over to the policemen who responded to his orders.

“Take him back to the station for questioning.”

Alec Lightwood will not sleep until this woman is behind bars for good.

  


Jace Herondale loved this room above everything else in the world.

White walls, a single table, several chairs and a two way mirror–the interrogation room is Jace’s definition of heaven. He’s alone for now, because his brother dismissed Fray hours ago.

He faced his respondent, crossing his bulky arms over his chest.

“So. Think about this. You grabbed the kid from her ward. Made small talk, offered her coffee? Let’s see, you dissolved some heavy paracetamol in the caffeine, maybe a formula specialized for adults. The kid is still recovering from her previous illness, so her system did not welcome the medicine quite pleasantly. The paracetamol took effect four hours after ingestion, and you _pretended_ to give her relief medicines, but in fact, you were hastening the overdosing process. Without proper treatment, the girl finally died from acetaminophen poisoning, and you dragged the body to Magnus Bane’s loft. You stabbed the body 25 times, got rid of you fingerprints, and placed the murder weapon in the sleeping Bane’s innocent hands. You gathered blood and sprayed them on Bane’s sleeping body. You left the loft as you entered it, quiet as a burglar. Now, Ms. Belcourt, did I get everything right?”

Jace Herondale was enraged at the woman in front of him, but he kept his cool for better reasons.

“Twenty-seven. I stabbed her 27 times.” Camille Belcourt laughed, her insanity finally showing.

Shaking with fury, Detective Herondale walked out of the interrogation room, not even an ounce of pity for what the self-proclaimed murderer will get from her crime.

He saw Alec outside the room, watching the mad woman inside, still laughing. “She’s insane.”

“Don’t state the obvious, Alec. And change the subject, _man, we_ are _shaking._ ” He hated to admit but this is how the two of them dealt with child murderers–with unimaginable _fury._

Alec took a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. How do you like Fray so far? Do you need me to find her another partner?” Jace has thought of this, and he knows exactly what he wants.

“Nah. I’ll keep her. That girl needs educating from the best.” He joked but another thought is invading his mind.

Clary Fray has to yet prove herself worthy of his sister.

  


_It feels so good to be someone’s priority,_ Magnus dreamily thought.

Around 10 o’clock that night, _in all his glory and eternal handsomeness,_ Captain Lightwood personally opened his detention cell to free him, _just like a guardian angel._

“We got Camille Belcourt under custody now. You’re free as of this moment, but we’ll have to track you still until this case clears up.” The officer explained. “ _However,_ your loft is still a crime scene, but as you’re technically my landlord, you’re free to sleep in my apartment. For now.”

Magnus Bane is _utterly_ surprised at the _generous_ offer, and honored at the same time. His fantasies for _five years_ , all scrunched up in one night. _How magnificent_.

“Well, I’m not one to resist a _wonderful_ offer. Thank you, _Alexander._ ”

Despite how _thrilled_ he is right now, Magnus Bane is not losing his _suave_ attitude. They were walking out of the station now, and he was prepared to walk away for some alone time and just drink, but Alec Lightwood spoke, to _him,_ again.

Alec scratched the back of his head, looking awfully younger than he actually is. _God, how cute is he?_

“Uhm I’m technically out of duty now, so...would you like to, I don’t know, grab a drink?”

Magnus felt the smile escape off his lips and crept up his face. “Like I said, I’m not one to resist wonderful offers. Lead the way, Alexander.”

 _Maybe this won’t be one of his alone times_ , Magnus dreamily thought.

  


For the third time this week, Clary was woken up by a phone call. She was dismissed by Captain Lightwood seven hours ago and since then, she found her way to dreamland.

Clawing through the thick of her blankets and comforters, the redhead emerged from her soft haven. She fumbled by her bedside table and reached for her phone. Pressing _Answer_ , she spoke groggily through the speakers.

“Fray. Hello?” A sexy, accented yet light voice answered her greeting.

“Well, good morning, Clary. What are you up to this day?” And that palpitation in her chest was back, yet again.

“Uh–uhm, no–nothing, I think.” _Stammering? Really Fray, get a grip!_

“Very good! What do you say, the two of us, lunch date?” Speechless as she was, Clarissa Fray struggled to get her response out of her vocal cords before her lady hangs up out of impatience.

“S–sounds good. Okay. Yeah.” She heard a distinct giggle from the other side of the line.

“Cool. I’ll wait for you. Toodles!” And she hung up.

Wow. She needs to get up early again, because damn, Clary Fray needs to go shopping for perfumes.

  


Paralegal Simon Lewis is in a breakfast date with his boss. _Kidding. This isn’t a date Lewis! Contain yourself._

Atty. Raphael Santiago stopped in the middle of pouring milk into his coffee. “What’s with _you,_ Lewis? Your face is all contorted. _Are you not feeling well?_ ”

Raphael, concerned about his well being. Wow. Simon is in heaven.

“Uh no. No, I’m not sick.” He hastily replied.

“Good. I’d fire you if I ever got infected.” _Ouch._

The two of them sitting in front of each other in Java Jones, Simon could not help but stare at his boss.

“So we’re going to the Hall this morning. We’ll file the case against Belcourt.” Of course Simon already knows this, because he practically spent the last decade studying how the law works.

Barely half an hour later, the two of them were climbing up the steps to the Council Hall. Entering the building, Simon caught a glance on a familiar man in a long, black robe.

“Uncle Luke! Hey!” The man threw a glance back at him, his face transforming into a wide, fatherly smile. Uncle Luke sprinted twords the two of them, dragging Simon into a bear hug.

“Hey, kiddo. Whatcha’ doin’ here?” His uncle asked.

“Uhm filing a case.”

Atty. Santiago, occupied by his phone, looked up briefly to notice what’s taking them long.

“Judge Lucian Graymark! A pleasure to meet you sir!” He offered a handshake, which his uncle pleasantly accepted.

“You too, Atty. Santiago. Dang, you look like your mother.”

Raphael smiled, “So they say, thank you, sir.”

“Uhm, kiddo, I gotta get back on my way. The court’s waiting. See you around, attorney.” The judge bid goodbye, and Simon waved at him.

Raphael faced him. “Why in seven hells didn’t you tell me you’re his _nephew?_ ” _Why in seven hells are you so interested?_ Simon giddily thought.

“Uhm. You never asked?”

An hour later, the duo finished filing the murder case against Camille Belcourt. As originally planned, Simon was already walking away, planning to spend his free time back at his apartment, hoping to catch a rerun of his favorite show.

Atty. Santiago grabbed him by the arm, not looking at him. “Change of plans.” Weirded out, Simon just let himself get dragged along.

“Let’s go grab some food. I’m starving.”

Simon Lewis is _not_ sorry for missing the rerun.

**Author's Note:**

> The character/names mentioned here are all Cassandra Clare's, based on her The Mortal Instruments Series (LOL You already know that.) 
> 
> Please leave kudos if you liked it, and comments are always welcome below! :*


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